Rather than heading straight back home, Max lingered near the restaurant, watching quietly from a distance as the others began to file out. His posture was casual, hands in his pockets, yet his eyes were sharp, following each movement.
From where he stood in the shadows, he could observe them one by one: Anton leaving in a sour mood, Bobo Stern hiding her irritation behind her usual aloof dignity, Sanna wearing a fixed polite smile despite the tension that clung to her shoulders, and Sheri glancing back at the building with a troubled expression that she tried to disguise.
When they were finally gone, Max noticed something else, the look on each of their faces. It was the same, no matter who it was. A kind of bitterness, a distaste that they couldn’t quite hide. The corners of their lips pulled tight, their eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if the entire evening had left them with a bad taste they couldn’t wash away.
Max found it amusing. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head at the irony.
All of them want the Billion Bloodline group. They all want to build bridges, secure investments, and hold ties to something they believe will guarantee their future. And yet... every single one of them detests me. Max Stern. In their eyes, I’m the stain on the glass, the flaw they can’t polish away. The more they crave the group, the more they’ll be forced to deal with me. If only they knew the truth of the situation... how different would their attitudes be then?
The thought lingered in his mind, a mixture of satisfaction and annoyance curling in his chest.
Inside the restaurant, the sound of footsteps echoed against the polished floor. Mayson approached, moving slowly, each step heavy with reluctance. His body language was like that of a dog with its tail between its legs, nervous and unsure. He clearly believed he had done something wrong but didn’t quite understand what.
"I’m sorry," Mayson said quickly, the words spilling out before he even stood directly in front of Max. "I thought since you were sitting with such high-profile guests, they already knew who you were. I... I just wanted to help. I figured it would impress them even more if I covered the meal for you. But I think I might have overstepped my boundaries."
His voice trembled slightly, but there was sincerity in it.
Max studied him for a moment, then shook his head and placed a firm hand on Mayson’s shoulder. His tone was steady, controlled.
"It’s not your fault," Max said. "I should have looked for you the moment I realized this place was ours. Honestly, out of everyone, I didn’t expect you to be the one serving us tonight." He let out a faint sigh. "Covering a bill in itself isn’t the issue. That can be passed off as generosity. The problem was how big of a bill it turned into... and the phrasing you used. That’s what caused trouble."
The word Boss echoed between them, unspoken but present.
In the eyes of Bobo Stern, and even the others who had been at that table, none of them believed Max was using the Stern family’s money. They knew something else was going on, but they didn’t know what.
One small piece of the puzzle was missing, just a single lock waiting to be opened. Once they figured it out, everything Max had been working to conceal would be laid bare.
They’re not stupid, Max thought. And Chad isn’t going to protect me with silence forever. If anyone starts piecing things together, they’ll get close enough to the truth. I need to be more careful than ever.
He turned his gaze back to Mayson. "For you to cover such an expensive meal... is that going to hurt our operation costs?"
Mayson’s lips curved into a confident grin, and he waved his hand dismissively. "Don’t worry about it too much. After the first bottle, it was obvious they were already wasted. We swapped it out for the cheap stuff after that, and none of them could tell the difference. It’s just a trick to keep us more profitable."
For the first time that evening, Max allowed himself a small, genuine smile. He knew there was a reason he liked putting Mayson in charge of places like this. The kid had instincts. He understood the business not only on the surface but also the angles beneath it, how to make money quietly, how to keep operations smooth without drawing attention.
And the truth was, this restaurant wasn’t even their primary source of income. It was just another piece in a larger puzzle.
"While I’m here," Max said, lowering his voice, "has there been any news in the Underworld? Anything surrounding Notting Hill that I should know about?"
Mayson scratched his chin, thinking. "There have been a few things. I’ve heard the Black Hounds have started their underground fighting rings again."
Max’s expression sharpened.
"They paused for a while, after some kind of incident," Mayson continued. "Your group’s name came up during that. I figured that must have been you. But now they’ve restarted operations. The only difference is, they’re avoiding certain areas. Specifically, they’re staying clear of territories already marked as yours."
It was true. Brinehurst had become solid ground for Max. The gyms, the delivery businesses, the restaurants, all of it formed a network, a web of influence that stretched into every corner of the city. Even the schools played their part, with delinquents still reporting to him, passing along scraps of information no one else cared about.
The strength of that network meant something significant: Brinehurst was off-limits. It was a fortress, not just in muscle but in information.
"So they’re choosing to stay away rather than confront us directly?" Max murmured, more to himself than to Mayson. "That’s surprising, given the scuffle we had with them before. Maybe the syndicate running them doesn’t want a direct clash. They probably know it would turn into a confrontation between groups, and maybe they’re worried about other syndicates watching Notting Hill too closely."
His eyes narrowed in thought. "Could it be the White Tigers? They’re close by in Mancur City. That could be the reason. The Black Hounds might not want to risk drawing the Tigers’ attention."
Mayson only blinked, silent. This level of speculation was beyond him, and he knew better than to interrupt. Max was connecting dots he couldn’t even see. So he simply stood there, waiting, letting his boss think aloud.
Later that night, Max finally returned home. The weight of the evening clung to him, but he pushed it aside. After everything, he managed a few hours of restless sleep, then woke up to face the next day.
His mind immediately began to organize priorities. Bobo. I need to decide how to handle her. She’s a problem waiting to happen. And then there are the Black Hounds... if they’re making moves again, I’ll have to keep my eyes on them. They’re the group I’m most worried about.
As he reached for his phone, the screen lit up with a new message from Warma.
Max’s eyes scanned the words, and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"It’s the Curts family. They want Sheri to become an intern."